The Valley of Fear
down and no one about. He took his chance, intending, no doubt, to make
some excuse if he met anyone. He met no one. He slipped into the first
room that he saw, and concealed himself behind the curtain. Thence he
could see the drawbridge go up, and he knew that his only escape was
through the moat. He waited until quarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglas
upon his usual nightly round came into the room. He shot him and
escaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would be described
by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it there and
made his way by some other means to London or to some safe hiding place
which he had already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?”
“Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. That
is your end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed half
an hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are both in
a conspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the murderer’s
escape—or at least that they reached the room before he escaped—and
that they fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereas
in all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering the
bridge. That’s my reading of the first half.”
The two detectives shook their heads.
“Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery
into another,” said the London inspector.
“And in some ways a worse one,” added White Mason. “The lady has never
been in America in all her life. What possible connection could she
have with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?”
“I freely admit the difficulties,” said Holmes. “I propose to make a
little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that
it may contribute something to the common cause.”
“Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?”
“No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson’s umbrella—my wants are simple. And
Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All
my lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic
question—why should an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural
an instrument as a single dumb-bell?”
It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary
excursion. We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that
the little country inn could do for us. I was already asleep when I was
partly awakened by his entrance.
“Well, Holmes,” I murmured, “have you found anything out?”
He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall,
lean figure inclined towards me. “I say, Watson,” he whispered, “would
you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with
softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?”
“Not in the least,” I answered in astonishment.
“Ah, that’s lucky,” he said, and not another word would he utter that
night.
Chapter VII
The Solution
Next morning, after breakfast, we found Inspector MacDonald and White
Mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour of the local
police sergeant. On the table in front of them were piled a number of
letters and telegrams, which they were carefully sorting and docketing.
Three had been placed on one side.
“Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?” Holmes asked cheerfully.
“What is the latest news of the ruffian?”
MacDonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence.
“He is at present reported from Leicester, Nottingham, Southampton,
Derby, East Ham, Richmond, and fourteen other places. In three of
them—East Ham, Leicester, and Liverpool—there is a clear case against
him, and he has actually been arrested. The country seems to be full of
the fugitives with yellow coats.”
“Dear me!” said Holmes sympathetically. “Now, Mr. Mac and you, Mr.
White Mason, I wish to give you a very earnest piece of advice. When I
went into this case with you I bargained, as you will no doubt
remember, that I should not present you with half-proved theories, but
that I should retain and work out my own ideas until I had satisfied
myself that they were correct. For this reason I am not at the present
moment telling you all that is in my mind. On the other hand, I said
that I would play the game fairly by you, and I do not think it is a
fair game to allow you for one unnecessary moment to waste your
energies upon a profitless task. Therefore I am here to advise you this
morning, and my advice to you is summed up in three words—abandon the
case.”
MacDonald and White Mason stared in amazement at their celebrated
colleague.
“You consider it hopeless!” cried the inspector.
“I consider your case to be hopeless. I do not consider that it is
hopeless to arrive at the truth.”
“But this cyclist. He is not an invention. We have his description, his
valise, his bicycle. The fellow must be somewhere. Why should we not
get him?”
“Yes, yes, no doubt he is somewhere, and no doubt we shall get him; but
I would not have you waste your energies in East Ham or Liverpool. I am
sure that we can find some shorter cut to a result.”
“You are holding something back. It’s hardly fair of you, Mr. Holmes.”
The inspector was annoyed.
“You know my methods of work, Mr. Mac. But I will hold it back for the
shortest time possible. I only wish to verify my details in one way,
which can very readily be done, and then I make my bow and return to
London, leaving my results entirely at your service. I owe you too much
to act otherwise; for in all my experience I cannot recall any more
singular and interesting study.”
“This is clean beyond me, Mr. Holmes. We saw you when we returned from
Tunbridge Wells last night, and you were in general agreement with our
results. What has happened since then to give you a completely new idea
of the case?”
“Well, since you ask me, I spent, as I told you that I would, some
hours last night at the Manor House.”
“Well, what happened?”
“Ah, I can only give you a very general answer to that for the moment.
By the way, I have been reading a short but clear and interesting
account of the old building, purchasable at the modest sum of one penny
from the local tobacconist.”
Here Holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rude engraving of
the ancient Manor House, from his waistcoat pocket.
“It immensely adds to the zest of an investigation, my dear Mr. Mac,
when one is in conscious sympathy with the historical atmosphere of
one’s surroundings. Don’t look so impatient; for I assure you that even
so bald an account as this raises some sort of picture of the past in
one’s mind. Permit me to give you a sample. ‘Erected in the fifth year
of the reign of James I, and standing upon the site of a much older
building, the Manor House of Birlstone presents one of the finest
surviving examples of the moated Jacobean residence—’”
“You are making fools of us, Mr. Holmes!”
“Tut, tut, Mr. Mac!—the first sign of temper I have detected in you.
Well, I won’t read it verbatim, since you feel so strongly upon the
subject. But when I tell you that there is some account of the taking
of the place by a parliamentary colonel in 1644, of the concealment of
Charles for several days in the course of the Civil War, and finally of
a visit there by the second George, you will admit that there are
various associations of interest connected with this ancient house.”
“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Holmes; but that is no business of ours.”
“Is it not? Is it not? Breadth of view, my dear Mr. Mac, is one of the
essentials of our profession. The interplay of ideas and the oblique
uses of knowledge are often of extraordinary interest. You will excuse
these remarks from one who, though a mere connoisseur of crime, is
still rather older and perhaps more experienced than yourself.”
“I’m the first to admit that,” said the detective heartily. “You get to
your point, I admit; but you have such a deuced round-the-corner way of
doing it.”
“Well, well, I’ll drop past history and get down to present-day facts.
I called last night, as I have already said, at the Manor House. I did
not see either Barker or Mrs. Douglas. I saw no necessity to disturb
them; but I was pleased to hear that the lady was not visibly pining
and that she had partaken of an excellent dinner. My visit was
specially made to the good Mr. Ames, with whom I exchanged some
amiabilities, which culminated in his allowing me, without reference to
anyone else, to sit alone for a time in the study.”
“What! With that?” I ejaculated.
“No, no, everything is now in order. You gave permission for that, Mr.
Mac, as I am informed. The room was in its normal state, and in it I
passed an instructive quarter of an hour.”
“What were you doing?”
“Well, not to make a mystery of so simple a matter, I was looking for
the missing dumb-bell. It has always bulked rather large in my estimate
of the case. I ended by finding it.”
“Where?”
“Ah, there we come to the edge of the unexplored. Let me go a little
further, a very little further, and I will promise that you shall share
everything that I know.”
“Well, we’re bound to take you on your own terms,” said the inspector;
“but when it comes to telling us to abandon the case—why in the name of
goodness should we abandon the case?”
“For the simple reason, my dear Mr. Mac, that you have not got the
first idea what it is that you are investigating.”
“We are investigating the murder of Mr. John Douglas of Birlstone
Manor.”
“Yes, yes, so you are. But don’t trouble to trace the mysterious
gentleman upon the bicycle. I assure you that it won’t help you.”
“Then what do you suggest that we do?”
“I will tell you exactly what to do, if you will do it.”
“Well, I’m bound to say I’ve always found you had reason behind all
your queer ways. I’ll do what you advise.”
“And you, Mr. White Mason?”
The country detective looked helplessly from one to the other. Holmes
and his methods were new to him. “Well, if it is good enough for the
inspector, it is good enough for me,” he said at last.
“Capital!” said Holmes. “Well, then, I should recommend a nice, cheery
country walk for both of you. They tell me that the views from
Birlstone Ridge over the Weald are very remarkable. No doubt lunch
could be got at some suitable hostelry; though my ignorance of the
country prevents me from recommending one. In the evening, tired but
happy—”
“Man, this is getting past a joke!” cried MacDonald, rising angrily
from his chair.
“Well, well, spend the day as you like,” said Holmes, patting him
cheerfully upon the shoulder. “Do what you like and go where you will,
but meet me here before dusk without fail—without fail, Mr. Mac.”
“That sounds more like sanity.”
“All of it was excellent advice; but I don’t insist, so long as you are
here when I need you. But now, before we part, I want you to write a
note to Mr. Barker.”
“Well?”
“I’ll dictate it, if you like. Ready?
“DEAR SIR.—It has struck me that it is our duty to drain the moat, in
the hope that we may find some—”
“It’s impossible,” said the inspector. “I’ve made inquiry.”
“Tut, tut! My dear sir, please do what I ask you.”
“Well, go on.”
“—in the hope that we may find something which may bear upon our
investigation. I have made arrangements, and the workmen will be at
work early to-morrow morning diverting the stream—”
“Impossible!”
“—diverting the stream; so I thought it best to explain matters
beforehand.
“Now sign that, and send it by hand about four o’clock. At that hour we
shall meet again in this room. Until then we may each do what we like;
for I can assure you that this inquiry has come to a definite pause.”
Evening was drawing in when we reassembled. Holmes was very serious in